Happy Birthday to Me
I've got to go pee
Hey, are those samples free?
I don't like Green Tea.
Okay, maybe I actually do like green tea, but you try power-writing a blog entry from your work computer when Herr Commisar could be returning at any second.
So, I'm forty-eight and not a second too late. This blog you may hate, but you'll still be my date and we'll bump it up with Kate cause she lives in New York State. Word.
I don't feel old. But I look old. Excuse me while I replace my face.
Ah - that's better.
The bad news is that my mother is dead and so, no one will wish me a happy birthday from my family, not my STBX or even my daughter. In fact, I overheard her distracting my daughter from considering making a cake for me. Isn't that special? I had three friends contact me and one business contact, who actually sent me two texts and called me, which was really nice. I was in celeb mode, so I didn't reveal how horribly depressed I was but glowingly thanked the Academy, et al, for their brave choice in my Nomination.
So, what will I do for my birthday? I will work until 1 AM, three hours past my quitting time, drive home, all the while fighting sleep and maybe, this time, losing - hey, I don't care as long as I don't wind up a cripple: let the crash kill me, I'm fine with that. Then I must crash into bed and try to power-sleep until 7 AM when I have to get up to take my kid to school because there seems to be no other way on the planet that this can be done. I will then return home and start cleaning and eventually, shower and then drive to work, where I will be exhausted from 5 hours of sleep. Oh, well: too bad for me.
There are no choices, only the outcomes that arise from serial events executed in parallel. I'm starting to think . . .
But my daughter did make me a cake . . . the one person I didn't want to be forgotten by did remember and that's good. Very good.